Stronger, Stronger
by Ombree
Summary: The flutter of lids, and then the capture of her within his senses. There's nothing odd about her actions—they're entirely normal, but he's missed ten years of normal with her. Request by MyCherryQueen on Tumblr.


Prompt: how about one on the day sasuke woke up next to sakura on their bed for the first time after 10 years at the end of gaiden?  
Idea: MyCherryQueen on Tumblr  
Note: I was like real close to making this a lemon, and then I contained myself. I was like "naaaaa make that shit cute and wholesome, my dude." Also I will fight anyone who thinks that people 30 year old and up people can't be adorable and shit. Papa and Mama Ombree are like the cutest little married couple and I will fight for that wholesome cuteness in SasuSaku (⌐■_■)

* * *

The light the spills from the curtains is what brings him from the sleep he had succumbed too. His lids are slow within their raise blurred by the that is desperate to keep him. Caves, forests, and run down inns are what he's grown accustomed too within the lands that threatened. How many years had he slept within lands so far from home? He had done so without question—he would not let the comforts of home keep him from his mission.

The birds that bring forth the noise of morning linger within his ears. There is no smell of the earth within these walls. They're not the walls of his home—they are the walls of an apartment, and yet they are no less soothing, and no less welcomed. The deep breath he inhales only seeks to make him press the back of his head further within the pillow and fingers roughened through years of battle seek to remove the sticky obsidian upon his forehead. There's no denying the comforts of home when so full enveloped within them. The ache of his muscles and the ache of the days, months, and years that have passed seemly purged within the confines of these four walls.

The noise beside him brings the slow turn of his head within the pillow. Short rose-colored strands are spilled within the pillow beside him. There's the urge to reach out for them and take them within his fingers. She had come to protect their daughter, and in turn protect him as well. This woman would travel no matter the distance to protect them all if need be. She was unconditional in all that she was—she gave _wholeheartedly_. She gave without _contempt_. She gave all that she could.

There's a warm that washes from her in waves and with it comes the heaviness upon his chest. How long had it been since he had laid beside her? That small distance between them within this bed is there as if to remind him just how long he had been without her. The night shirt she wears is undoubtedly his. The crest of his claim embroidered within it's back, and the high collar only seeking to make it clear her attachment to him even when he is not there.

He was here though— _he was right beside her_.  
Ten long years he had been without her, and she had been without him.

It's enough to make him turn his body within the blankets—he wants to bring her closer to him. He wants to act upon the longing he had thrown aside in the name of his mission. There's another noise that escapes her laced within sleep and it's now that she lays upon her back fingers sliding across his shirt and upon the comforter. The mess of her hair has it tickling her cheeks, and dancing across her forehead. She's lost to him within the world of dreams but she's peaceful. She's submerged within a world he can only imagine.

He had, had a high tolerance within being separated—he was a loner, loner  
— _it made him stronger, stronger_.

He had no tolerance within this space within the bed—he no longer had to be a loner, loner  
— _it made him weaker, weaker_.

That warmth of hers was so tangible, and only seeks to make the heaviness that sits upon his chest all the crushing. He had been so caught up within the daily superstition—those what ifs—those whens. He had been caught within those for the last ten years. He was going to leave again within those dimensions that threatened. He was going to leave this woman so lost within the world of dreams. He thought within the night that she might open up to him. He had expected tears and he had expected those fingers that pressed within the comforter to find their way upon him. She had only smiled and told him to rest—she was putting him first as she always did. She was doing the same with their child.

This was not how he wanted to leave her— _again_.

There's the anxiety that comes with that thought. It's sinking within him and it brings the dread. He dreads the look that she'll have upon her face within the four walls of this small temporary apartment. He dreads what she'll plaster across her face when she wakes up. He dreads the farewell he'll receive while she continues to be understanding, and she continues to be unconditional. Fingers twist within the comforter at the thought. He's overwhelmed—his throat feels tight. He feels like he cannot breath. He feels submerged by the dread that threatens to make him reach out and wake her.

 _Tell her I'm sorry for everything_.  
He had left her with nothing, but his child to raise, love, and care for.

The muffled noise that comes from her only seeks to make him remove his fingers from within the comforter to push the obsidian from his eyes once more. They now twist within those locks so dark. There is hope that if he swallows down the tightness that has overcome his throat that the heavyhearted feelings upon his chest will follow it. He hopes it will dissipate before she sees him—one look is all it would take for her to know he was overwhelmed.

He was a _loner, loner_ , and he was _weaker, weaker—_ within her presence.  
He could not allow himself to fall within this comfort that wished to weave him to place.

He had a mission to complete—that threat still lingered within the shadows.

If he rises now he will have left her alone—another thing he would be able to add to the list of things he's done wrong—and yet the longer he leaves his mind within this state the harder it will be to walk from her, and their child.

It's another shift from her that has him rising from his pillow. She's subconsciously coming closer within this small distance between them turning towards them. Obsidian, and amaranthine eyes cannot stop themselves from watching her—that movement of her chest, the twitch of those fingers that have found their way to his underwear, the slide of those rose-colored strands across her face and pillow, the part of those lips that have allowed a strand of rose to lay between them, and the twist of his shirt upon her.

He's twisting and going to her—those fingers had made it clear she had no intention of letting him leave her side. Fingers come to brush the rose-colored strands from her face, and mouth. Even within their thirties there is something innocent about this shinobi before him—she had never not been innocent. She nuzzles within his touch and that only seeks to make him bring his face closer to hers. That sensation that comes with such an unconscious action on her part are enough to eat at the heavyhearted feeling upon him. It does not wash him clean of it—no because there's always later when he knows she'll see him off.

The curve of her mouth comes and the flutter of her lids. He's woken her within his actions and these touches. He didn't mean for this, and yet there is no startle upon her face as if she had expected such things. She says nothing at first as her viridian seek to obtain his obsidian, and amaranthine. The curl of her fingers upon his underwear tighten, and it's then that she's humming.

It's soft, and raspy within sleep as if she needs to clear her throat.

Pressing her head deeper within the pillow there's an almost uncharacteristic smile upon her lips, "You're still here."

The startle comes and goes within moments—seconds—subsides. Swallowing thickly his fingers play within her hair. He gives her but a noise of a reply. It too is raspy within the sleep he has year to clear from his lungs. She gives forth another hum as her fingers release their grasp upon his underwear to raise up his stomach, "I'm glad—Sarada will want to see you off."

She's placing their child before her— _she would always place him, and their child before her own feelings_.

Roughened fingers run from her hair to run over her shoulder clothed by his shirt—it fills him with the oddest sense of pride that she wears it to remain close to him—and down her arm. He's grasped her wrist from stopping the fingers that rub soothing circles upon his bare stomach. His motion is fluid as he pins her to the bed placing her upon her back. Forehead to forehead, viridian to obsidian and amaranthine, obsidian to pale rose come within this pin of his wife. The press of her wrist within the pillow as their breaths mingle comes but only seconds later and there's a quell within that heavyhearted feeling having finally reached her.

He was a loner, loner  
— _it made him weaker, weaker_.

He had longed for her  
— _much longer, longer_.

Her free fingers find their way within his obsidian strands rubbing more soothing patterns upon him. Those pale rose brows pinched within the softest of smiles have caught that he was overwhelmed. It takes the inhale of her vanilla scent to make him dip his head down and take her lips.

Endorphins— _they make you stronger, stronger_.

She's slow within her giving back. There's no rush within this kiss. It's soft and simple. The slide of his tongue within her mouth belittles the urges he has now that she's in his grasp. Each movement of their mouths seeks to settle the dread. It seeks to cleanse him of the dread he had allowed to build up within waking next to her. Fingers that grip upon his obsidian strands are entirely welcomed, and the heat of her breath against him as they separate to resume the press of their foreheads is all the more welcomed.

"Hi, Sasuke-kun." she's soft within her whisper laced in giggles.

He gives a hum of a response equally as quiet, "Sakura."

Those fingers of hers have slackened in their grip upon his locks instead choosing to slide them down to glide across his cheek before laying upon the mattress, "Welcome home."

That curve of her lips, and that complacent look upon her face is all he can ask for from this woman who continues to give. There's something pleasing, and something of pride at how he is the cause of such a look. His mission had taken him from her, but she had never strayed from him. He was the one she sought to become close with even when he was next to her with his shirt upon her shoulders. They're little things she does for herself. They're little things that keep her grounded while he protects them within the shadows and lands far from home.

The release of her wrist comes after he's removed himself from on top of her. She's slow within her raise from the bed. It's the roll of his shoulders as he stands beside the bed that releases the tension sleep had brought. Her steps are soft as she digs through the clothes she had managed to salvage from the destruction she had brought to their home. There's a hint of a smirk upon his lips at the thought— _this woman of his_.

He's not one to lag behind grabbing the pants, and a shirt that she pulls out for him. There's anxiety lingering within the back of his mind. The time is ticking, and that means he's closer to leaving her side—their side. The pull of his shirt from her head only seeks to bring those rose-colored strands into greater disarray. He will take every chance he can get until then to watch her every movement. He will take this chance to get his fill of her before he leaves these gates. There's nothing odd about her actions—they're entirely normal, but he's missed ten years of normal with her. He'll take what he can get, and it's because of that, that he doesn't stop himself from running his fingers upon her shoulder as she zips up her dress. She turns to him with the most innocent of expressions—they're in their thirties and he's almost positive she'll never be stripped of such things. His fingers cannot stop themselves from running from within her hair once again this morning. Once they leave the comfort of these four walls their affection will subside into shared glances with unspoken conversations within looks.

"You're affectionate this morning." it's all a breath of words from her as she leans her head back upon him closing her viridian from him.

The smirk that hides within the corners of his mouth come with her words. There's a breath of contentment that escapes her as he brings his his mouth to rest upon her ear. There the smallest of whispers that only she needs to hear.

They're the little things she deserves to hear—just another thing he would be able to add to the list of things he's done right—and while she'll never outwardly state it he knows she loves to hear them.

He only stops when she lets out a hum and words that their daughter will be rising soon. She continues to be the pillar of unconditional within his world. She'll continue to give without requesting these little things and that's what makes it so easy to give them to her in private. She's always understanding. The grin that comes upon him finally in full bloom as she's walking out to the kitchen is warranted.

It was he who had said in the day before—his wife was not a weak woman.

He'll leave much _stronger, stronger_.


End file.
